The Break in the Firewall
by Kirayoshi
Summary: Follow-up for "The Secret in the Siege". So long as Pelant was out there Booth couldn't risk telling Bones. Fortunately, he didn't need to... Mature rating for a reason. Chapter 3: "I can call spirits from the vasty deep!" "Why so can I, and so can any man, but will they come when you do call for them?"
1. The Cabin In the Woods

Disclaimer: If I owned 'Bones', Booth and Brennan would have at least been allowed to enjoy being engaged over the summer without Pelant pulling that stunt in the finale. Fox owns 'em, I don't.

Some stories I want to write, some I _have_ to write. Guess which one this is. Here be spoilers up to the eighth season finale, "The Secret in the Siege". This story may be just a little angsty at first but, like Pandora's Box, still contains hope. Hang on tight, pals and gals, it's a Post-Season 8 Fix Fic!

Summary: So long as Pelant was out there Booth couldn't risk telling Bones. Fortunately, he didn't need to...

The Break in the Firewall  
By Kirayoshi

Chapter one  
The Cabin in the Woods

_I must be cruel only to be kind.  
Thus bad begins and worse remains behind._

_—William Shakespeare  
Hamlet, Act 3, scene 4_

* * *

He woke up at 6:45 AM, blindly hitting the snooze bar three times over the course of a half-hour before ultimately resigning himself to facing the day. His rest had been fitful, as sound sleep had eluded him for the third night in a row. He dressed himself, not particularly caring if his slacks and suit matched, so long as they were reasonably presentable. He called for room service and ordered an everything bagel with cream cheese and Kona coffee, no cream. He turned on the television just long enough to catch up on current events, before shutting it off in disgust.

As he waited for his breakfast, Special Agent Seeley Booth stared darkly out of the window of his room at the Capital Skyline Hotel, and not for the first time asked himself how everything could go so horribly wrong so quickly.

Two years ago, it all made sense. He loved Bones, she loved him. She was pregnant with Christine. He had found a home, a "mighty hut" as Bones called it, where they could raise a family. For one brief period, his life was perfect.

But Booth still sensed the fragility of this new shared life he and Brennan had built for themselves. She still carried the emotional scars of her childhood, her own doubts and fears. Cam warned him, all those years ago, before Hannah, before Broadsky; "If you crack that shell and you change your mind, she'll die of loneliness before she'll ever trust anyone again." Trust was not something that came naturally to Temperance Brennan, so when she chose to trust Booth with her life and with her heart, he realized that he was indeed the recipient of an incredible responsibility. So he respected her boundaries on the subject, while doing everything in his power to assure her that he was not Max, or Russ, or Sully. He would never leave her or their daughter. He was a permanent part of her life and was not going anywhere.

She was an atheist, and still didn't buy into the concept of marriage as anything other than an outmoded societal construct, while he was still a devout Catholic, with all the baggage that implied. So he took an 'agree to disagree' approach with Brennan regarding theology; apart from occasional good-natured ribbing, he did not pressure her on the subject of marriage. "Are you saying that you aren't going to ask me to marry you?" she asked him once after observing his attitude. He just smiled that cocky Booth smile and said, "No, _you_ are going to ask _me_ to marry _you_." Nothing more was said on the subject; it was there if either of them chose to discuss it again, but he would never push it on her.

Then came Pelant. The one murderer that Booth and the Jeffersonian team still couldn't bring in. Murder after gruesome murder, and all that they could do was follow every possible lead, only to have him slip like quicksilver through their gasp. He framed Brennan for one of his murders, forcing her to take Christine away from Booth and become a fugitive for the duration of last summer. Even after they cleared her name, it took a few weeks for Booth and Brennan to fully reconnect once she returned.

But reconnect they did. They were the center, as he had said before, and the center had held. Their partnership, personally and professionally, seemed stronger than before, despite a growing sense of danger around them.

Was it Pelant returning to menace them again, stripping Hodges of his family's fortune, that did it? Was it the diabolical assailant who shot Brennan with a bullet of frozen blood? Or the viral outbreak at the lab that nearly claimed the life Arastoo Vaziri, the intern and poet whom Cam had grown to love? Whatever it was, a sea change took place in Brennan's reasoning. She would claim, no doubt, that it was merely the result of her evolving attitudes toward love and relationships. Still, her words took Booth wholly by surprise.

"I want to marry you. Will you marry me, Booth?"

Such a simple, declarative statement. Nothing fancy or ornate. So very much in character with Bones. Certainly, Brennan would frequently use polysyllabic words in describing the state of a dead body or specific factors of a case, but in most other cases she spoke plainly and in an up-front manner, especially regarding her desires. And she wanted a life with him. She wanted to marry him.

What else could he say but "Yes"?

But Pelant escaped again, slinking back to whatever hole in the ground he had emerged from after his failed attempts to target Sweets. Booth tried to put the insane killer out of his mind and simply enjoy the moment with fiance and their daughter. Then his cell phone rang.

Pelant was watching them. Monitoring their every movement, their every conversation. And promising a new killing spree if he went through with his plans to marry Brennan.

Booth agonized over Pelant's threat. It was the Devil's equation; five innocent lives would end violently, unless Booth rejected Brennan's proposal. Unless he betrayed the foundation of trust built over nearly a decade of being partners, friends and lovers.

A greater dread seized Booth at this thought; five innocent lives. Pelant didn't say who, but with a cold clarity that froze the marrow of his bones, he realized the two most likely names on the top of Pelant's list;

Temperance Brennan and Christine Angela Brennan-Booth.

Ironically this made his decision easier. He saw Brennan with a near-fatal bullet wound already once this year. In the past she had been stabbed and buried alive during the course of their investigations. He wouldn't put her through that again. A broken heart had a better chance of healing than a fatal head-shot.

That night, Booth was forced to do that which he vowed he would never do to Brennan. He betrayed her trust. He broke off the engagement.

To save her life, he broke her heart.

He assured her that they were still good after that night, but that too was a lie. They were not anywhere near 'good'. Day by day, he could see her retreat into her impervious shell, her brilliant mind compartmentalizing the events of the last week. She had gambled her heart and lost. And Booth couldn't even tell her why he rejected her.

For the first time since she became his partner, he had given her reason not to trust him. And that necessary firewall, the cone of silence that Pelant demanded of Booth, had quickly become a barrier between them. Although they shared the same bed, they hadn't made love since that night. They touched each other less and less frequently. They stopped talking and started arguing. Then they stopped arguing and started shouting.

Two weeks after the broken engagement, Booth started sleeping in the guest room. One week later he moved out altogether. Brennan said nothing to stop him. They still worked together at the Jeffersonian, were still polite to each other, but Brennan would not speak to him outside of office hours, and never on personal matters.

Pelant had changed the game, Booth realized belatedly. The Center no longer held.

And now, four weeks after that terrible night, he was staying at a modest hotel in downtown Washington DC that no one could mistake for a home, weighing his options. He knew in his heart that he had to make things right. He had to contact Brennan. He would not lose her again, especially not to some punk hacker.

He didn't dare contact her by phone or email; Pelant had backdoors to practically the entire DC area. If he tried to contact her by electronic media, Pelant would know about it. That left one viable option. And considering the message he needed to communicate, there was only one person whom he could trust as a courier.

With a steely resolve fortifying his heart, Booth located a pen and a tablet of hotel stationery and began to write.

* * *

Max Keenan answered the incessant knocking at his door and snarled at the figure on his porch, "Can you give me one good reason why I shouldn't knock your ass into the middle of next week?"

"That would be called 'assaulting a federal officer'," Booth answered as he stood outside Max's, his irritation evident in his voice, "and with your legal record, you'd get the max."

"Not good enough," the ex-con answered gruffly. "Not after what you did to Tempe. Do you know how miserable she's been the last few days since you moved out?"

"And I'll regret that to my dying day," Booth assured Brennan's father. "Look, I have to be at the Hoover Building in fifteen minutes, I just wanted to give you this." He withdrew an envelope from his jacket and handed it to Max. "Go ahead and read it if you want."

Max snatched the envelope from the agent's hand. "You want me to give this to Tempe?"

Booth stared blandly at Brennan's father for a second before answering. "I'll let you make that call. Look, just tell her I—that I—" He stammered inarticulately, unable to put words to his thoughts. Finally, he shrugged his shoulders and said, "Please, just look after Bones and Christine. See ya." Booth lowered his head in defeat and turned toward his car.

"Booth," Max called out as the special agent began to walk away. Booth stopped and turned his head toward Max. "You ever hurt my baby girl again, and I'll shoot you in the back of the head. Execution style."

Booth nodded, understanding. "If I ever hurt Bones again, I'll let you have my gun."

As Booth drove away, Max Keenan examined the envelope in his hand. Part of him wanted to run the envelope unopened through his document shredder. _Breaking Tempe's heart the way he did, who does he think he is? Thinks he can promise my little girl a new life and just take it away from her?_

_Just like I did when she was fifteen..._

Slowly, he opened the envelope and withdrew the paper within. Unfolding the letter, he began reading Booth's loose but legible handwriting;

_Dear Bones,_

_I don't know if you ever want to hear from me again after our last shouting match, but please just read this letter. If you decide after reading that you want me to stay away from you and Christine, I will respect your wishes. _

_I want you to know two things. One, hearing you say that you wanted to marry me was truly the single most wonderful moment of my life. And two, cancelling our engagement was the single hardest decision I ever had to make. _

_That afternoon, when you, Christine and I were playing in the park, Pelant called me on my cell. He may have been targeting Sweets last time, but he still wants us to suffer. He told me in no uncertain terms that he would kill five innocent people unless I broke off our engagement. He gave me no clues as to who his intended targets are, just a promise that people would die unless I broke your heart, without giving you any explanation. I couldn't let anyone die just for the sake of my happiness. And considering the way his twisted mind works, the first people on his list would very likely be you and Christine. Believe me, Bones, if it's a choice between watching the two of you die and hearing you say that you hate me, I'll take the latter every time._

_I'm writing this letter from the Capital Skyline Hotel. Please don't call my cell regarding this letter. No texting or emails either; no electronic communication of any kind is safe. Pelant probably has all of Washington DC wired. One nice think about handwriting is that it can't be hacked. I don't know how you can contact me, or even if you want to, so I won't require you to. I'm spending most of my waking hours at the Hoover, working every possible angle to take Pelant down; my superiors officially declared Pelant's capture to be a top priority. I've spoken with Cam since moving out, and I know that you and the Squints are also working the Pelant case. Hopefully between the two of us we can take that mad dog down once and for all._

_Please stay safe, Bones. Keep Christine safe. I can stand living in a world where you hate me, but not in a world where you and Christine don't exist._

_With all my love,_

_Booth_

Max read and reread the letter, before he gently folded the paper and replaced it in the envelope. Pelant. He considered the name with a growl of quiet rage. That madman was fixated on Booth and Temperance. As long as he was free, Max realized, his daughter would never know a moment's peace. First he robbed her of her freedom, forcing her to take flight with her daughter to avoid wrongful imprisonment, and now he was chipping away at her family, at the foundation she and Booth had forged together.

_Not if I have anything to say about it,_ Max decided. Temperance would probably be furious with him if he became directly involved in her and Booth's war against Pelant, and rightly so; as much as he would like to, he simply couldn't slay every dragon who threatened his daughter and granddaughter. But there was something he could do for her and Booth.

He reached for his phone and dialed. He waited a few seconds before her familiar, professional voice greeted him; "Dr. Temperance Brennan speaking."

"Tempe," he answered, still holding Booth's letter in his free hand. "We need to talk."

* * *

Booth gauged the distance between him and his target, released the safety off his gun, and fired off six shots at the target. The entire process took roughly 1.5 seconds. Half a minute later, he retrieved the target from the automated return system, and examined the groupings of bullet holes with a grim satisfaction. Three shots in the head, two in the chest, a few stray shots just off the shoulders and to the side, and one shot (he smirked mirthlessly) in the groin area. Not quite his best score of the day. He still felt uneasy. Normally a round of target practice helped to steady his nerves. Today, it just added to his unease.

"Nice shooting, Agent Booth."

He spun around, his gun still drawn, toward the voice that addressed him. Deputy Director Cullen nodded sagely as Booth lowered his gun, shaking his head heavily. "Sorry 'bout that, Director," he answered, holstering his gun.

"Pelant, huh?" Cullen observed. "Anything from the Jeffersonian?"

Booth briefly stifled a yawn as he spoke. "I'm going to head out there shortly," he said, removing his safety goggles as he headed for the locker room. "I'll talk with Cam and Bones, see if there's anything new at their end."

"You do that," Cullen nodded, an almost fatherly expression on his face. "Then go home. Seriously, Booth, you nearly nodded off in the morning briefing, you look like two miles of bad road."

"I didn't get my position solely because of my rugged good looks," Booth countered.

"I mean it, Booth. When's the last time you had any sleep?"

"What is this 'sleep' I hear so much about? I'll have to try it sometime."

"At ease, Booth," Cullen growled. "As soon as you've finished with the Medico-Legal lab, consider yourself off-duty. I don't want to see you here again for at least another 48 hours."

Booth shook his head uneasily. "Look, I'm sorry, it's just that I have a lot of things on my plate right now."

"I know," Cullen answered, his voice softer but still carrying his full authority. "This isn't disciplinary, Booth. I just need you at your best, and right now you're not there. Go, get some sleep, eat something that doesn't come from a vending machine, spend some time with that little girl of yours."

Booth nodded, understanding. "You have my number if there's any development on the Pelant case."

"We'll call you," Cullen promised.

After speaking with Cullen, Booth stashed his safety gear in his locker, put on his jacket and headed for his office. He sat behind his desk, closed his eyes and considered his options. In his head and in his heart, he knew that Cullen was right. He needed to step back, rest up and approach this case with a fresh perspective. Or at least eight hours sleep and a decent meal. But in his gut something was prodding him on. Every second that Christopher Pelant was free felt to Booth like a ticking of a countdown clock; if he couldn't take him down soon, he was in danger of losing everything. His home, Christine, Bones, Pops, everything and everyone that mattered to him.

"Booth?"

The name was spoken plainly, but the voice caused him to push all other thoughts to the side. He has heard that voice so many times over the last decade. Outlining evidence. Explaining a scientific principal. Expressing confusion. Laughing at a joke. Singing with joy. Shouting in anger. Crying in grief. Moaning in lust.

"Booth, I need to speak with you."

Now her voice sounded cold, detached. Impervious. Her words washed over his ears like antiseptic on a cut. With a mounting dread he slowly turned his face to the speaker.

Temperance Brennan was wearing her regular off-white trench coat over a blue collared blouse, gray slacks and thigh-high leather boots. Her features projected an outward calm, but were otherwise unreadable. Booth wanted to ask if Max had sent his letter, but did not dare to ask. "Bones," he greeted him, matching her professional calm with his own. "I was going to visit the Jeffersonian, see if the Squints came up with any new evidence."

"Nothing new regarding Pelant, I'm afraid," Brennan admitted. "But this came across my desk, regarding another case." She placed a folder she was carrying on his desk. "Perhaps you should read it yourself."

"Bones, I..." Booth started but Brennan raised her hand to silence him. "I am aware that Pelant is your first priority. He is ours at the lab as well. But please, Booth, just read this. I believe it would be worth your while."

Booth gazed questioningly at his partner for a moment before returning his attention to the folder on his desk. He opened the folder and immediately recognized the letter he wrote for Brennan. Underneath his signature, he found a new message written in his partner's clear, meticulous handwriting;

_We need to talk but not here. I know a secure place. Meet me at my car. Leave your cellular, computer and any other electronics behind. I disabled the GPS in my car. Angela and Hodgins have agreed to babysit Christine. _

_I love you,  
Bones_

His eyes widened as he scanned her message. He looked back at Brennan, her face almost set in stone, save for the faint upturn of her lips. He felt as though a terrible weight he had shouldered willingly for so long was being lifted from his shoulders, and only in its absence did he realize how heavy it was.

"I trust that you are satisfied with my information, Booth," her voice remained clinical, antiseptic, while her eyes silently pleaded with him for understanding.

"Oh, sure," Booth answered hurriedly, grabbing a pen from his desk drawer. "Let me just sign off on this." He hurriedly scribbled a quick line on the letter and handed it back for Brennan to read;

_I'll meet you there. I love you too, Bones._

"Say, Cullen told me to take the rest of the day off," Booth added casually, his eyes communicating wordlessly with Brennan; _Follow my lead, Roxy._ "Maybe we can discuss this over lunch. Founding Fathers, my treat?"

Brennan shook her head, closing the folder. "Actually, I discovered a small out-of-the-way place that I thought you might enjoy. They have a delicious spinach lasagna."

"Sounds good," Booth answered. "Let me take care of a few things here." Brennan nodded silently and walked out of Booth's office. Once he entered his office, he placed his cell phone in his desk drawer. He also took off his shoulder holster and locked it, along with his service piece, in the gun safe under his desk. As he was more or less officially off-duty for the next forty-eight hours, he figured it would not be necessary. At least he hoped so.

Five minutes later, Booth sat in the passenger seat of Brennan's car as she drove. As per her instructions, he carried no sophisticated electronics with him; even his watch was a wind-up, a high-quality Swiss model that Pops had given him when he graduated from FBI Academy. His cellular, his laptop computer, they were safely locked away in his office. When he first entered Brennan's car, he noticed a map taped to the dashboard, just to the right of the steering wheel.

"So," Booth hazarded an ice-breaking gambit, "care to tell me where we're going?"

"Forgive me, Booth," Brennan answered, "but I am driving to unfamiliar territory without a GPS, and need to concentrate on navigation. Please refrain from speaking until we reach our destination; I'll explain everything then." Reluctantly, Booth acquiesced to Brennan's wishes and sat in silence as the car sped on, heading southwest on Interstate 95 South.

After roughly a half-hour's drive, Brennan craned her neck to take in her surroundings; after moving off the main highway, they passed through greener areas outside of the city, dense forests on either side. She turned a sharp left at one road, and drove for a few more miles, peering intently out of the windshield as though searching for tell-tale landmarks. Finally, she banked the car smoothly to the right of the road and slowed to a stop. Cutting off the ignition, she turned to her partner and said, "We'll need to hike for about a mile. Are you ready?"

"Lead the way, Bones," Booth answered. He still had no idea what to expect at the end of this journey. All he could do was trust in Temperance Brennan. _Well, I never regretted trusting her before. Not gonna start now._

After about a twenty minute trek through dense groves of aspen, hemlock and oak trees, a structure emerged from the greenery. "There it is," Brennan announced as she indicated the small, prefabricated cabin in front of them, strong cedar timbers supporting durable log sidings. Approaching the cabin, Brennan fished a key out of her pocket and unlocked the front door. "After you," she gestured to Booth.

"Just where is this place, Bones?" Booth asked incredulously as he entered the sparsely furnished cabin. Cedar beams supported a vaulted ceiling, from which hung a stained wood ceiling fan. The living room sported a futon sofa-bed, currently unfolded flat on the floor, and a small dining table with two chairs, adjacent to an open kitchenette, featuring a cube mini-fridge and a gas range with vents. "How did you know this cabin was-umpf—?"

Within one second of Brennan shutting the cabin door behind her, she was firmly placing her hands on Booth's shoulders and pulling him toward her. Her mouth collided with his in a sudden and searing kiss. Her arms reached behind his shoulders, her hands caressing the back of his neck, pulling him inexorably closer into her gravity. His hands fumbled for the small of her back, the suddenness of her display of affection surprising Booth, especially considering how cold and polite she remained around him since he moved into the Skyline. Eventually, the two partners pulled away slowly to stare into each other's eyes, each unwilling to speak, to move out of each other's arms, to do anything that might break this soap-bubble fragile connection they both feared they might have lost a week ago. Booth gasped as though he had finished an obstacle course and Brennan could feel her heart hammering at her ribs.

"Dad owns this cabin," Brennan ultimately explained, her breathing slightly labored after their intense kiss. "It's a privately owned stretch of land on the edge of Prince William Forest Park that Dad purchased shortly after he was paroled. I chose not to ask where he procured the capital to invest in this property. According to Dad, the area is a cellular and wireless internet dead zone for a radius of approximately 2 miles, and the cabin and surrounding foliage cover will baffle any spy satellites or other surveillance equipment that Pelant might reasonably possess. We are probably as safe from any kind of covert surveillance here as anywhere within a hundred-mile radius of Washington DC. Here we can be free, Booth. Free to talk openly without Pelant's monitoring."

"Thank God," Booth breathed, as apprehension cleared the fog in his mind. Leave it to Max Keenan, that old criminal, to find a way to get around Pelant's constant spying on his family. "Bones, there's so much I need to tell you. So much..."

Brennan touched Booth's lips with the fingers of her right hand. "I know, Booth," she answered, her voice no longer cold and impervious, but soft and gentle, with a faint note of desire. She reluctantly freed herself from Booth's arms long enough to take off her trench coat and drape it over a dining room chair. "There is so much we both need to say, and we will, I promise you. But at this moment, I find that I am experiencing a much more compelling need, one that takes precedence over all others."

"And what need is that?" Booth asked innocently.

Brennan said nothing, she simply moved forward to meet Booth again in another passionate kiss. Her suddenness caused Booth to reflexively move back slightly, causing his legs to get tangled with hers. Before he could regain his balance, he tumbled backward like a felled tree, directly onto the futon, taking Brennan, who tightened her embrace around Booth's shoulders, with him. Despite their unplanned and graceless fall, she continued her amorous assault on Booth, her arms clinging tenaciously to his body, her mouth tasting his, before traveling across his cheek, across his mandible and onto his earlobe, which she gave a quick nip with her teeth. Quickly, she released her right hand from his back, only to trail her fingers along his deltoid muscles and along his collarbone through his shirt. Once her hand reached his shirt collar, she began loosening the knot in his tie.

Booth pushed Brennan off of him, just long enough to gaze into her face. Her cheeks were flushing crimson, her blue eyes darkening with desire. "Bones," Booth asked, as much for propriety as anything else, "are you sure this is what you want? I mean, as of last week we were kind of estranged."

"I'm attempting to rectify that, Booth," Brennan answered sweetly, as she started to unbutton his shirt. "Please, I need this. I need you to claim my body with your own, to mark me as your own again. I need to prove to myself again that two people can indeed become one, as you told me once before. I need you...please, please make love to me, Booth..."

Booth looked up at the woman he loved, her normally serene, porcelain face now unmasked, her needs evident in her eyes and her voice. She was never one to withhold or deceive when it came to her desires. Especially in the bedroom, she was honest and upfront, even technical on occasion, about what she wanted in terms of sex. When she simply asked for him to "make love" to her instead of her more customary use of the phrase "intercourse", he recognized the truth, that she was placing her body and her heart completely in his hands.

Booth took Brennan in his arms and rolled on the futon, situating his body over hers, his lips landing firmly on hers for a few seconds, just long enough to communicate a promise of more intense kisses and touches. "Bones," he replied with a throaty chuckle, "nothing would please me more."

His hands moved down Brennan's sides, making their way toward the lower hem of her blouse, as their kisses became more heated, more urgent. Brennan opened Booth's shirt, popping the last two buttons in her impatience. "Booth," she growled, her voice husky with arousal, "I need you to be naked, immediately!"

Booth flashed his familiar cocky grin which only stoked Brennan's desire further. "In that case, Bones," he chuckled throatily, "maybe you should start getting naked as well."

Brennan gazed at her love for a second, her eyes unmasked, desire and adoration shining clearly on her face. "I find your terms acceptable," she grinned as she began to unbutton her blouse.

* * *

_TBC, but you knew that, right?_


	2. The Eye In the Storm

_Authors Note: No, still don't own 'em._

_This is the 'M' rated chapter of the story. I'm not comfortable writing smut scenes, but I do enjoy some writing innuendo, flirtation, pillow-talk and seduction. Which this scene contains, along with a little exposition. Oh, and for the entirety of this chapter, Booth and Bones are completely naked._

Chapter two  
The Eye in the Storm

* * *

_BENEDICK  
I pray thee now, tell me, for which of my bad parts  
didst thou first fall in love with me?_

_BEATRICE  
__For them all together, which maintained so politic a state of evil__  
__that they will not admit any good part to intermingle with them.  
__But for which of my good parts did you first suffer love for me?__  
_

_BENEDICK  
__Suffer love! A good epithet! I do suffer love indeed,  
__for I love thee against my will._

_BEATRICE  
__In spite of your heart, I think; alas, poor heart!  
__If you spite it for my sake, I will spite it for yours;  
__for I will never love that which my friend hates._

_BENEDICK  
__Thou and I are too wise to woo peaceably._

_—William Shakespeare  
__ "Much Ado About Nothing" Act 5, Scene 2__  
_

* * *

Brennan fell backward, her body landing solidly on the quilted futon mat beneath her, her synapses still tingling with the last vestiges of her intense climax, her hair sprawled on the pillow beneath her, haloing her head in wild disarray. Booth lay at her side, his head turned toward her, his breath tickling her ear, his right hand caressing her breasts. She shuddered with pleasure as a callused thumb stroked a nipple. "God, Bones, that was effin' amazing," Booth murmured as his fingers gently explored her body, both basking in the afterglow of their lovemaking. "I missed this so much."

"I believe," she purred with satisfaction as Booth trailed kisses from her earlobe down her cheekbone, "that this is what Angela would call 'make-up sex'. I find it to be most pleasurable, although I would have preferred to forgo the necessary 'break-up' portion." Turning her head to capture Booth's eyes with her own, she added, "I hate it when we fight, Booth."

"So do I," Booth said slowly, almost reverently as he cupped her cheek. "And I'm so sorry about everything."

"I assure you, Booth," she purred, her mouth upturned in a cat-swallowing-the-canary grin, her hand grasping Booth's as he caressed her cheek, that you have no reason to be ashamed of your performance. Whatever you lacked in stamina you more than compensated for in both technique and intensity."

Booth flashed Brennan a slight pout, which Brennan found to be simultaneously comical and sexy. "Bones, you know that's not what I meant, and whaddya mean 'lacked in stamina'?"

A sultry chuckle issued from the back of Brennan's throat. "I was simply observing that our coupling was briefer than normal. Of course that may be due to our choosing to forgo the customary foreplay and proceed to the coitus, what you would call 'the main event'. You may rest assured that with your able assistance, I achieved a most satisfying orgasm."

Booth smirked knowingly at Brennan's scrupulously accurate choice of words. "You sure, Bones? You're not just saying that?"

"Booth, have you ever known me to lie to you simply to placate your ego?"

Booth nodded. "You have always been an annoyingly honest woman."

"And as an honest woman," Brennan smiled, "I assure you that you once again lived up to the promise of your belt buckle." Lifting her body to a semi-sitting position, she glanced around the cabin, noticing Booth's discarded slacks draped haphazardly on the table, the belt dangling down, the bright red "Cocky" buckle clearly visible. "In retrospect," she added thoughtfully, her brow creasing slightly, "I believe that the first time I realized that I was becoming attracted to you was when I first saw you wearing that buckle."

"Really?" Booth quizzed, his brow rising in amused surprise.

"Don't mistake me," Brennan added, "I had been aware since our first meeting that you were and are an attractive specimen. But your belt buckle, somehow that made me look at you differently. It demonstrates your sense of the irreverent. You always tell jokes and make sarcastic asides, but somehow that belt buckle, it defines you in a way that words cannot. In my mind, it became an integral part of your personality."

"Oh, is that why you bought me a new buckle after I lost the old one?"

"When we found you in the Gravedigger's trap, yes," Brennan nodded. "You simply seemed... incomplete without it. I don't know if I'm explaining myself well enough..."

Booth gave Brennan a quick peck on the lips, just enough to silence her thought. "Don't worry, Bones, you spelled it out just fine."

Brennan smiled warmly at Booth's words. "Thank you. So, tell me, when did you first realize that you were attracted to me?"

"Oh, that's easy," Booth sat up, moving his body back toward the wall so he could get more comfortable. "First time I saw you, when we teamed up on the Gemma Arrington case."

Brennan shook her head, rolling her body so she was lying on her stomach on top of Booth, her breasts pressed against Booth's ribs, propping her upper body with her elbows. This allowed her to view Booth's face more easily, while also permitting Booth a view of her shapely posterior; judging by the slight leer he flashed her, accompanied by the hardening of his member against her belly, he approved of the display. "I don't mean when you first recognized that I was attractive. When did you first realize that you personally were attracted to me?"

"Same answer, Bones. Gemma Arrington. Like I told you a few years later, when we were discussing Sweets' book in front of the Hoover, I always knew."

"Because you were 'the guy'."

"Well, yeah," Booth hedged slightly, running his hand slowly down Brennan's arm. "And because you were this achingly gorgeous woman who also happened to be the smartest person I ever met."

Brennan leaned into his straying hand as it stroked her arm, relishing the prolonged contact. "And then you fired me."

Booth considered arguing that he only fired her from the Arrington case after she had punched a federal judge (not to mention punching Booth) before he noticed the faint upturn of Brennan's lips, the slight flash of merriment in her eyes. It was a familiar argument, one they had bickered about in many variations over the last decade.

"Yeah, things weren't right for us then, I'll own up to that," Booth answered in mildly self-depreciating tones. "But after we became full-time partners, I got to know the real Temperance Brennan, and if you'll forgive me for sounding like a Squint, our continued interaction only confirmed my initial hypothesis."

"In other words," Brennan smiled up at Booth, "the more time we spent together, the more attractive I became to you."

Booth nodded. "By the time we tore up Sweets' thesis, I was completely and irrevocably in love with you, and willing to gamble on that different outcome."

"I wish I had been as willing to gamble at that time," Brennan's voice was tinged with melancholy as she turned her face away from Booth. "I so wanted to believe you that night, that we could achieve a different outcome. Perhaps if I had been braver then, it might have saved us both some grief."

"Hey, hey," Booth placed a gentle hand on Brennan's cheek, slowly turning her face toward his again. "No second guessing. You weren't ready then, I get that. You had to be—what was it you said, 'strong, not impervious'? Maybe neither one of us was ready for the next step. I just wish I hadn't let my ego get in the way, all that 'I gotta move forward' crap." His eyes seemed to gloss over somewhat, his tone of voice became more rueful. "Funny how running away can feel like moving forward."

"I think we were both guilty on that front," Brennan admitted. "I thought I was moving forward when I joined the Maluku excavation, but in the end I was only avoiding my issues, postponing the date when I would have to face them. And when I saw you again, when you told me about Hannah, I thought that I had missed my chance."

"And my flaunting Hannah around like I did was a pretty dickish move on my part. I guess I figured that if I kept saying that I was moving forward with Hannah often enough and loud enough, I'd manage to convince myself." Sighing slightly, he added, "I think she sensed that too. Probably why she turned down my proposal. Didn't want to get tied down to a guy who was hung up on someone else."

Brennan swallowed back the lump that normally formed in her throat when she thought back to those months when Booth was involved with Hannah. As deeply as she hoped that Booth had finally found some level of happiness with the attractive reporter, she regretted that he seemed to find his happiness with someone other than her.

Booth noticed the telltale trace of tear that was forming in the corner of her eye, and as it started to fall down her cheek he gently dabbed at it with his thumb. "Y'know, Bones, breaking up with Hannah didn't hurt that much, at least not once the initial rejection settled in. What really hurt was knowing that I had hurt you. Which brings me in a roundabout way back to my original apology." Gently Brennan's face with a knuckle under her chin so he could look directly into her eyes, he added, "I am so sorry for breaking off our engagement."

"Given the circumstances, Booth," Brennan assured him, "an apology is not required. And thank you for your letter. It did confirm my hypothesis regarding your decision to break off the engagement."

"Yeah, I just wish that..." Booth's sentence trailed off as he considered Brennan's always precisely chosen words. He tilted his head toward her, his senses alert. "Wait, Bones. You knew?"

Brennan shook her head hesitantly, recognizing the puzzled expression on her lover's face. "I did not 'know', Booth," she explained, "but I did have my suspicions. I had a working hypothesis, but until I received your letter I had insufficient facts to confirm my theory. Until I had that proof, I felt that I needed to keep my suspicions private. I sensed that you were doing the same, keeping your motives secret. Not to me but to someone else, as though you were afraid of being found out. That's when I began to suspect that Pelant was behind your actions, that he was somehow forcing you to break off our engagement."

"You figured all that out? Why am I not surprised?"

Brennan smiled at Booth's gentle tone, both teasing and praising her intellect. "It did take me a while. My emotions were in turmoil after you told me that we shouldn't get married. After you moved out, I made the effort to control my emotions, to compartmentalize them as I normally do during an investigation, and consider your actions in a rational light. When I did that, it occurred to me your actions ran counter to what I know of you."

"How do you figure that, Bones?" Booth asked, genuinely curious at how she came to the truth.

"You have been the greatest constant of my life over the last decade," she explained. "We are partners, friends, confidantes, lovers, mates and parents to a beautiful little girl. I flatter myself to think that I have gotten to know you very well over the last ten years." She traced his pectoral with her right forefinger. "One, you are a devout Catholic, and one of the core tenets of Christianity is the sacrament of marriage. The sole reason that you never proposed to me when we first became mates is out of my respect to my previously expressed views against marriage, and even then you insisted that I would come around to your way of thinking on the subject. Which ultimately I have."

She extended her middle finger, tapping at his chest with two fingers. "Two, you have always attempted to be considerate and empathetic towards me, even if I did not desire you to do so. For all the times I chafed at your alpha male tendencies, I do appreciate that you have never acted to intentionally hurt me, either physically or emotionally. Only three times can I recall when you did hurt me. The first was during the Jemma Arrington case, and we didn't know each other nearly as well as we do now, so that doesn't really factor into my analysis."

"Do you know how sexy you are when you talk all squinty in the nude?" Booth chimed in, his mouth stretched in a leering grin.

Brennan mock-scowled at him, slapping his chest slightly. "Are you even paying attention, Booth?"

"I'm an empathetic alpha male, but I was a bit of a dick to you during the whole Arrington case. And for that, I apologize."

"I forgave you years ago." Brennan smiled approvingly, and continued. "The second when you faked your death after you were shot at the Checkerbox, and that was more due to lack of communication on Sweets' part, as he chose to go against your wishes that I be informed of your status." Pausing momentarily, she thought aloud, "I am still unsure if I completely forgive him for not telling me that you were still alive." Continuing on with her train of thought, she added, "And the third time was during your relationship with Hannah, which was more callousness on your part rather than malice, coupled with jealousy on my part, I'll freely admit that."

"Don't remind me," Booth groaned in memory of his less than gallant behavior toward Brennan and the Jeffersonian team during those months. "Hannah was the biggest mistake I ever made."

Brennan smiled with satisfaction at his words. "I understand. However, that does bring me to my third point." She added her ring finger to the other two, using her fingers to gently stroke his chest. "The concepts of marriage and family, even when separated from your religious beliefs, are very important to you. Even before we conceived Christine, this was evident in your relationship with Parker. You had told me in the past how devastated you were that Rebecca had no desire to marry you, even after Parker was conceived. I also remember how saddened you were when Hannah rejected your proposal..."

"Hey, hey, hey," Booth protested quietly. "That don't count. Like I said, biggest mistake I ever made, I'm grateful she said no."

"Now you are, yes," Brennan agreed. With a faintly wicked smile, she added, "And for the record, so am I. But before you acquired that hindsight, you were quite upset at Hannah's rejection. And returning to my second point, knowing how much that rejection hurt you, I cannot imagine you desiring to inflict similar pain on me. I suspect that's why Pelant chose that particular avenue of attack, forcing you to hurt me the way you had been hurt by both Rebecca and Hannah before."

Booth smirked slightly at Brennan's observation. "Classic tactical maneuver," he admitted. "Divide and conquer. He knows that you, the Squints and I are still the biggest threat to his freedom, so he tried to take us down by turning us against each other. Bones, do you have any idea how much it hurt me to say that we shouldn't get married?"

Brennan pursed her lips in thought for a second before answering. "Actually, Booth, I believe I do have a frame of reference. If you experienced anything similar to the turmoil I felt when I took Christine and went on the run from the law last year. Even acknowledging the necessity of my actions, I still sometimes find myself replaying that situation, wondering if there were any other options."

Booth considered Brennan's words soberly, weighing and measuring the events of last summer in his mind. "I told you before, Bones, don't play that game." Booth's voice was gentle and calming, yet his tone held within it a core of iron, of adamant resolve. "You didn't set out to hurt me, only to protect our daughter. We don't blame ourselves for the actions of our enemies. We didn't kill Vincent Nigel-Murray, Broadsky did. And you didn't set out to destroy our family, Pelant did."

"Just as he did again, by forcing you to choose between our happiness and the lives of others," Brennan countered, her voice matching Booth's in resolve, her face taking on a firmer countenance, the attitude of a lioness protecting her mate and their cub. "If I don't get to blame myself for Pelant's actions, then you don't get to blame yourself either. Any murders he commits are on his head, not yours." Lifting her head slightly to make sure Booth could see her eyes, she added, "And he knows, just as I do, that if you were to choose our engagement over five innocent lives, you would not be the Seeley Joseph Booth that I fell in love with. As upset as I was when you rejected my proposal, I understand why you had to do so. So no, I won't forgive you for what happened, because you do not require forgiveness. You did what you did to save innocent lives. As you stated in your letter, very likely Christine and myself. There is no need for forgiveness. And despite Pelant's efforts, I find that I still trust you, as deeply and unconditionally as I ever have."

Booth witnessed the unreserved openness and adoration in her eyes, and was awed. Booth knew full well how the circumstances of her past prompted Brennan to train herself over the years to clamp down on her emotions and rely solely on intellect. It's what has made her the finest forensic anthropologist in the country. But he also knew how those same circumstances that led to that clarity of reason made it extremely difficult for her to trust others, to form attachments. Her declaration of trust in him, even after what anyone else might have considered a betrayal, left him humbled, as though he were being granted undeserved grace. "Thank you, Bones," he vowed, "I promise you, I will make this right between us."

"No, Booth," Brennan whispered in response. "_We_ will make this right. Pelant will not succeed in ending us, I promise you that." Booth trailed his fingers across Brennan's shoulders, slowly working his way to the tendons in her neck, his gentle touches slowly eliminating the tensions of the last few weeks, while at the same time stoking a delicious heat within her core. She pulled her body across his, the gentle friction of her breasts dragging across his chest sending pleasant sparks down both their spines, until her face was within an inch of his. "I love you, Booth, and nothing that Pelant does will alter that fact."

She closed the distance between their faces with a slow, languid kiss. For the next minute or two they simply kissed and touched each other, merely enjoying the shared and strengthening bond between them, not desiring to escalate their passions into love-making, not for now at least. There would be time for that later; they both had no doubt of that. Now was about communication and intimacy.

Eventually the need for oxygen forced them to break off the kiss. Brennan felt a gentle flush rising from her chest and slowly spreading through her body. As much as she wanted to simply remain in Booth's comforting embrace and allow their passions to guide them to their inevitable conclusion, she knew that there was more between them that needed to be said. "I want you to promise me something, Booth," she began. "When you finally confront Pelant, if it is at all possible, I want you to take him alive."

Booth sighed deeply, clamping down on the growing rage he felt every time he thought of Pelant with the steely control he learned from years as an army sniper. "Feeling weirdly merciful, Bones? After all that bastard's done to us? All he's taken from us?"

"Maybe I just don't want that bastard to take anything more from us, from you," she answered fiercely. "He doesn't deserve to become another red mark in your Cosmic Balance Sheet. Please Booth, you were able to bring in Broadsky alive. If there is any way to bring in Pelant without killing him, I want you to take that option."

Booth nodded solemnly at Brennan's words; even as a staunch atheist, she was still concerned for the state of his soul. "If there is a way to bring in him alive," Booth promised, "I'll take it. But if he leaves me no other choice, I won't hesitate to take my shot. He's a mad dog, Bones. One way or another, he needs to be put down."

"I find your terms satisfactory," Brennan answered calmly, her resolve still firm and level. "But remember, my previous order still stands." She captured his lips again in a brief but intense kiss before continuing; "You are not allowed to die, Booth."

"I'll keep that under consideration," Booth agreed. "Trust me, with all I have to live for right now, I have no plans to jinx that anytime soon. Yeah, I know, you don't believe in jinxes or fate or destiny."

"I don't have to," she smiled. "You believe in them enough for the both of us." Snuggling closer to Booth, she dared one more request. "Come back home, Booth. Christine misses her daddy. And so does her mommy."

"There's nothing I want more in this world, Bones," Booth agreed. "I miss you both so much." He paused for a moment, shaking his head. "We may have to play things close to the vest for the time being, though. Play it like our relationship is still strained, but we're trying to patch things up. Pelant's probably got our house monitored."

"That occurred to me as well," Brennan admitted. "I was considering how he seems to need us to believe he has us under his surveillance. One thing I've figured out about Pelant; his weakness is his hubris. Not only does he have to be smarter than us, he has to make certain that we think he is. If we let Pelant think that he's managed to create a rift between us, one that we're just now trying to overcome, maybe he'll become overconfident."

"Careful, Bones," Booth quipped, "you're starting to sound like Sweets."

Brennan smirked at Booth's comment. "Given that his insight has proven valuable to us in some of our cases, I'm prepared to accept psychology as a useful and valuable discipline. Not a science, but a discipline. And if you tell Sweets I said that, I'll deny it," she added pointedly.

"Your secret's safe with me, Bones," Booth smiled. "You think we can pull this off? Keep Pelant from thinking you know the truth?"

"I look at it as another undercover assignment. Albeit not one I'm looking forward to as readily as the last time we played Buck and Wanda." Pausing for a moment, she added sadly, "I hate having to lie to our friends. Angela especially."

"She'll understand once this whole mess is over," Booth assured her. "Once we finally take down Pelant, we can put our lives back together. You can even ask me to marry you again if you want."

Brennan's brow narrowed very slightly at Booth's comment. "No, Booth, I don't think I will," she said plainly.

Booth swallowed hard, a vague knot of dread forming in his chest, threatening to drive the oxygen from his lungs. _Too soon, you asshole, too soon..._ The words echoed in his head like a terrible mantra. His greatest fear for the last month, since Pelant's phone call had dashed his hopes for a future with Brennan, was that the devastation she felt from his rejection would drive her back into that shell of imperviousness, that she would never gamble her heart again. "I'm sorry, Bones," he interjected hurriedly. "That was a boneheaded thing for me to say..."

"Booth..."

"No, it's my fault, I shouldn't have brought up your proposal. You need time, I get that, I…"

"Booth!" Brennan raised her voice sharply to halt his tirade. "Please let me explain my position before you make any more erroneous assumptions." Booth nodded wordlessly, suitably mollified. With a satisfied smile, Brennan continued. "You accepted my initial proposal freely, without mental reservation. Am I correct? No speeches, just yes or no."

Booth nodded. "Yes."

"You were even ecstatic when I proposed. Correct?"

"Yes."

"And when Pelant forced you to break our engagement off, you still wished to marry me. Correct?"

"Yes."

Brennan nodded as she prepared to finish her argument; "Pelant coerced you into breaking our engagement. Any reasonably competent lawyer could make a case for extortion. He forced this agreement upon you, without your consent, and thus you should not consider yourself bound by his agreement. You understand, don't you?"

Booth began to open his mouth to answer, only to close it again as Brennan's words unwound in his mind. Her argument was simple, logical and without emotional overtones. So very Bones. But soon, the clarity of her argument made itself clear. "Bones," he whispered, "are you saying what I think you're saying?"

Brennan nodded, smiling joyously. "I will not ask you to marry me again, Booth, because it is not necessary. As far as I am concerned our initial agreement still holds. You and I are still engaged." Pressing her body into his, reveling in the sensation of his skin touching hers, she smiled wantonly and purred, "It may be awhile before we can discuss setting a definitive date, but I do plan to marry you."

Booth stared in wonderment at this incredible woman who, against any and all logic, even after he had broken her heart time and again, still loved him enough to want a life with him. Wonderment soon gave way to delight, as a goofy grin spread across his face. With a whoop of joyful laughter, he wrapped his arms around Brennan and kissed her breathlessly. "Bones," he vowed, still smiling, "I will never debate your logic again!"

"Yes you will," Brennan replied, the smile on her face matching his, "because again, if you didn't you would not be the Seeley Joseph Booth I fell in love with." Cuddling closer into his chest, she added, "We will take down Pelant, Booth. And once we do, we can start making wedding plans."

Booth gave a brief snort of amusement. "How about this for a plan; as soon as Pelant's locked up, we grab Hodgins and Angela, head over to Caroline Julian's office, sign whatever papers we need to sign, have her do the ceremony right there."

A familiar V-shaped crease formed on Brennan's forehead as she gazed thoughtfully at Booth. "Can she perform wedding ceremonies? She's a Federal prosecutor, not a judge."

"She told me she got herself ordained as a minister a few years ago, while I was in Afghanistan and you were in Maluku," Booth answered. "This was right after she found out that we were expecting Christine. I think she was trying to drop a hint."

"That would not surprise me at all," Brennan admitted. "I thought you'd want a Catholic ceremony."

"Hey, it's your wedding too. Wouldn't want you to be uncomfortable."

"I wouldn't be uncomfortable with a church wedding."

Booth kissed Brennan lightly on the lips. "We can do a formal ceremony down the road. I don't want to delay making you my wife a minute longer than I absolutely have to."

"I concur," Brennan answered wholeheartedly. "Why Jack and Angela?"

"We'll need witnesses, won't we? Besides, Ange would never forgive you if she missed our wedding."

"Point taken," Brennan conceded. "You think Caroline would mind?"

"Hello, Bones? Remember the mistletoe a few Christmases ago? She still has her puckish side."

Brennan chuckled at the memory of Caroline insisting that she and Booth kiss each other under the mistletoe. "You're right, Booth. I'm sure she'd enjoy it immensely." After a few seconds of quiet contemplation, she added, "We should take some time off after the Pelant case."

Booth shrugged his shoulders in mild agreement. "Maybe. Cullen informed me the other day that I still have three weeks of unused vacation time left, with the standard boilerplate of 'Use it or lose it'."

"Dr. Soroyan has made similar statements regarding my allotted vacation time as well," Brennan agreed. "How about Paris?"

"You really want to check out those catacombs, don't you?" Booth smirked, recalling the last time they tried to agree on a vacation.

Brennan raised an amused eyebrow. "That would be my idea for a vacation," she admitted. "But not a honeymoon," she added, gently stroking his abdominal muscles, smiling approvingly as he shivered slightly under her fingertips.

"Ah, but of course, _mon petite_," Booth chuckled in the back of his throat, his voice taking on an exaggerated French accent. "You wish to share ze croissant at the _Champs_-_Elysées, _make out on zat big Ferris wheel zey have zere, make outlandos d'amour from ze hotel balcony, no?"

Brennan laughed uproariously at Booth's antics. "That is the worst Maurice Chevalier impression I ever heard!"

Booth glanced knowingly at Brennan for a second. "Chevalier? I was doing Pepe Le Pew!"

"You mean that lothario skunk from those cartoons Parker likes?"

"_Mais ouis._"

"You are aware," Brennan commented playfully, "that skunks are not indigenous to France, or indeed anywhere in Europe. They're almost exclusively native to the Western Hemisphere."

Booth paused for a second in thought. "No wonder Pepe had to resort to macking on black cats with white stripes painted on their tails in order to get laid."

"Yes, but where did Pepe come from?" Booth challenged.

After another second of thought, Booth said, "Maybe he's Creole."

Brennan chuckled at Booth's grasp of cartoon logic. "A plausible theory," she admitted, smiling. "Maybe while we're in France we should also visit Nice, or some other coastal resorts along the Riviera." Her face took on a more knowing expression, her eyes darkened with a growing arousal, as her fingers trailed across Booth's stomach, slowly reaching lower and tantalizingly lower. "When I asked Angela for some ideas for a vacation a few months ago, she told me about her and Hodgins' extended honeymoon in France about three years ago, while you were in Afghanistan and I was in Maluku with Miss Wick. She offered to give me a detailed list of secluded areas along the French Riviera where she and Hodgins were able to engage in intercourse without fear of being observed by passersby or local authorities. Angela assured me that she and Hodgins devoted themselves to...shall we say, exhaustive research on that particular subject." She flashed Booth an almost childlike grin, inordinately proud of herself for successfully creating such a perfect double entendre.

Booth winced slightly at the thought, with enough exaggeration to prompt Brennan to giggle. "Okay, as much as I never want to imagine Jack naked," Booth announced, "get that list, it may come in handy."

"Once we resolve our ordeal with Pelant, we'll do that." Brennan lifted her head from Booth's chest once more, her voice firmer, more serious, yet still gentle and reaffirming. "And we will resolve this. I refuse to let him take away from us any more than he already has. Pelant will not win, I promise you that." Her words carried the calm intensity and absolute earnestness of a wedding vow.

Booth nodded in full agreement, his comforting smile reminding Brennan of sunlight piercing the clouds, and having a similar warming effect on her. "He's already lost, Bones," he assured her. "He just doesn't know it yet. He thought he could tear us apart, sow mistrust between us. And for a moment he nearly succeeded. But we beat him at his game. He thinks he has the upper hand, but his hubris, like you said, will trip him up. He'll make mistakes. And we'll be there when he does." He lifted his head to kiss her softly on the lips. "I love you, Bones."

Brennan pressed herself further into Booth's body, returning his kisses with building passion. "I love you too, Booth," she murmured as her kisses, initially gentle, developed intensity and momentum, became hungrier and more demanding. A familiar and welcome heat spread across her body, centering in her chest, belly and between her thighs, as his steady erection pressed against her leg stoked her inner fires. She reveled in the inner triumph she felt as she contemplated how she was having a similar effect on him.

Booth suddenly growled and moved his body forward, rolling his hips around and over, prompting Brennan to whoop with surprise and delight as she landed with her back on the futon, his body covering hers. "We still have a couple of hours before we go pick up Christine, Bones," he reminded her in a voice hoarse with desire. "Let's see if I can change your mind about my 'lack of stamina'."

Brennan's smile grew wanton at his implied promise. "Please do," she murmured as he descended upon her, his mouth trailing across her lips, her cheek, her collarbone, before ravishing her breasts.

Soon, they would have to return to the real world. Soon they would have to don their masks again, letting the world think that their relationship was still strained, let Pelant think he was still victorious against them. But at this time, as they renewed their passion for each other and engaged in that most ancient and joyous of celebrations, they knew the truth.

The center still held.

* * *

_AN: Thanks for the reviews, fellow Boneheads. We'll get to the actual case next chapter._


	3. The Smoke In the Mirrors

**_Author's Note: Sorry for the delay, but my muse was not cooperating with me. Lame excuse, I know. The fact is that I found myself considering several different directions to go with the whole Pelant case, but none bore fruit until I finally hit on this one. At one point, I was considering a Bones/Castle crossover that would kill two cliffhangers with one stone. Given the Federal Agent Beckett subplot it wouldn't be too tough to have Pelant get under her skin or get Senator Bracken involved at some point, leading to Beckett and Castle joining forces with Booth and Brennan and prompting Beckett to reconsider her taking the Fed job. Ultimately I decided that adding Beckett and Castle would make the story too busy, and I really couldn't think of a way to make them relevant to the story. (If anyone else wants to adopt my plot bunny, feel free.) Anyway, I finally hit on this idea, so here 'tis.  
_**

Chapter three  
The Smoke in the Mirrors

_GLENDOWER_**_  
_**_I can call spirits from the vasty deep._

_HOTSPUR_**_  
_**_Why, so can I, or so can any man;  
But will they come when you do call for them?_

_GLENDOWER  
Why I can teach you, cousin, to command the devil._

_HOTSPUR  
And I can teach thee, coz, to shame the devil  
By telling the truth; tell truth and shame the devil!_

—William Shakespeare  
Henry IV Part 1, Act 3 Scene 1

"Any word on our John Doe?" Brennan asked Angela as she entered the computer lab. Angela Montenegro Hodgins was at her regular perch, monitoring the myriad systems and displays of the Angela-tron. Three-dimensional images of the remains of their most recent case flashed before her eyes.

"Not yet," Angela replied tersely, her frustration visible in her faint scowl. "I was able to confirm your initial identification as a male Caucasian, between 25 and 30 years old. I also discovered faint traces of kerosene, which was probably used to torch him. Unfortunately, the body was so badly fried that DNA extraction is pretty much impossible. I identified three stab wounds to the chest, which appear to be cause of death."

"So the immolation was not cause of death?"

"More likely the killer stabbed the victim first and turned the corpse into flambé to confuse time of death." With a wan smile, she added, "On the plus side, the skull was caved in, again post-mortem, but the mandible was more or less intact, and I was able to extract two molars. I'm running a check on dental records, so we'll be able to identify our Burning Man."

"Good," Brennan nodded. "Once we have a positive identification, Booth can begin his part of the investigation."

Angela glowered slightly as her eyes glanced over the charred body. "Hopefully he won't mess it up this time," she muttered under her breath.

"What was that, Angela?" Brennan asked.

Angela turned toward her best friend, an unconvincing smile plastered on her face. "I didn't say a thing."

Not fooled, Brennan crooked an accusing eyebrow toward her long-time friend. "I fail to understand the hostility you have been demonstrating toward Booth this last month."

Angela glared at Brennan. "Well I guess we're even, Bren, because right now I'm failing to understand your _lack_ of hostility toward Booth. The way he treated you, the man's way overdue on some heavy-duty groveling!"

Brennan scowled slightly at Angela's commentary. "Is this regarding his decision to break off our engagement?"

Angela rolled her eyes in mock-incredulity at Brennan's question. "Duh, Sweetie! I don't get it. First Studly breaks off your engagement without even a good reason, then he walks out on you and Christine, then you take him back and everything's hunky-dory between you? I just don't get it! I saw the way you were hurting when you announced the engagement was off. Now don't deny it, Bren," she added as Brennan raised her hand to interrupt. "You may have the best stone-face this side of Mount Rushmore but I've known you most of my adult life. I can tell when you're in pain, and you were in deep pain after Booth broke things off." Grunting with grim humor, she added, "I wanted to break something off of him, if you know what I mean."

Brennan cocked a knowing eyebrow at her friend. "You make your meaning vividly clear, Ange," she assured her, flashing a sardonic half-smile. "And you are correct; I admit that I was emotionally devastated when Booth first informed me that he did not want to marry me. But last week we had a long discussion regarding the status of our relationship and he explained the reasons for his actions. After hearing his argument, I conceded that he was correct in saying that we should not get married at this time." _For reasons that I cannot explain to you right now,_ she mentally amended her statement. _I wish it was not necessary to keep secrets from you, my dearest friend, but for now it is. I promise you that someday I will tell you the truth. Once Pelant is finally out of our lives forever._ "The situation between Booth and me is neither hunky nor dory," she continued, "but we are working together toward a positive resolution."

Angela stared long and hard at her friend, weighing her statement in her mind. "I dunno," she answered skeptically. "I just hope it works out for the best."

"It is a challenge," Brennan admitted, "but Booth and I have invested too much of ourselves into this relationship to simply abandon it whenever things become difficult. I am confident that we will prove equal to the task."

"If you say so, Sweetie," Angela nodded. "I'm rooting for you both. No matter how mad I am at Booth right now, I have to admit, he's still one of the best things that ever happened to you."

"I concur wholeheartedly." Brennan smiled slightly, and Angela could sense that for once she wasn't smiling for her friend's benefit.

Angela nodded, accepting Brennan's assurances at face value. "Okay, Bren," she announced, donning a nearby pair of rubber gloves. "Let's move on from that unpleasant topic of conversation to something even more unpleasant; the Pelant case."

"You have some new information?" Brennan asked as Angela stooped down to pick up a plastic box she had borrowed from the evidence locker.

"More like some old information," Angela admitted. "I had been going over some of the evidence from his first confirmed murders about two years ago. Figured if I went back to that case with fresh eyes, I might find something."

"Judging from your tone of voice, it sounds like you think you have."

"Maybe, Bren," Angela hefted the evidence box to the examination table. Brennan noticed several vertebrae sealed in plastic bags, as well as some damaged computer components. "You remember how he managed to torch the Angela-tron the first time."

"You said that he somehow carved a scanner code into the bones of his first victim," Brennan recalled, "which planted a virus in the Angela-tron, causing its coolant system to malfunction."

"Big boom, exactly," Angela answered. "At least that was the working theory. Today, acting on a hunch, I took another look through the wrecked components, and found this." She withdrew a small plastic bag out of the evidence box and placed it on the counter. The bag contained a vaguely circular mass of scorched plastic. "I missed this melted slag among the components when I took the Angela-tron apart the first time, but I discovered it during my search today. Probably too upset when it blew up to really do a more thorough search. Anyway, the plastic weighs approximately 14.5 grams. What else weighs around 14.5 grams, give or take?"

Brennan paused for half a second of thought before answering; "A CD."

"A CD," Angela echoed in response. "Now, I've cataloged and inventoried every CD-ROM and DVD-ROM I've used in the Angela-tron, and when I found this slag among the components, I went through the inventory to see if anything was missing. All discs are present and accounted for. So where did this one come from?"

Brennan cast an aside glance at Angela, observing the widening of her eyes. Clearly she felt that she was onto something that could potentially change the course of their investigation. "I trust that was not a rhetorical question," she commented.

"Nope," Angela answered. "That disc was in the Angela-tron when it when kablooey, but I didn't put it there. And in its current state, there's no way I can read the data off it. So who did, and what was it doing there?" She then removed the sealed bag containing the vertebrae, and removed one of the bones. "This is the vertebra that Pelant carved his code into. I want to perform an experiment. I'm going to attempt to scan this vertebra again, and I need you here to witness. I want you to examine the main display as the scan progresses, while I check these diagnostic displays that I set up on the back-up monitors."

"Aren't you concerned that the virus will infect the mainframe again?"

"When I rebuilt the Angela-tron," Angela assured her, "I upgraded the anti-viral and anti-hacking software, and added redundancy safeguards so it's pretty much hack-proof. Plus I'll be watching the diagnostic displays like a hawk. Trust me, nothing's going to happen." After a moment, she sheepishly added, "And if it does, Cam can take it out of my paycheck."

"You're starting to emulate your husband too closely in these matters," Brennan remarked. "Tell me when you're ready."

Angela placed the vertebra under the scanners, making sure that the carved sections were clearly visible. Producing two sets of safety goggles from her desk drawer, she handed one to Brennan. "Just to keep Cam from getting on our case regarding procedure."

"Fair enough," Brennan conceded as she donned her goggles. "Let me know when you're ready," she added as she turned her attention to the main Angela-tron display.

Angela affixed her goggles to her face and placed her skilled hands over her computer keyboard. "Beginning initial scans in three—two—one—Fire in the hole!" She tapped the enter key, and invisible infra-red light pulses attacked the bone from multiple angles at once, mapping and documenting every crevice and plane of the bone. Brennan observed as a three-dimensional image of the bone emerged on the screen before her, while Angela monitored the diagnostic screens with a gimlet eye.

"Scan complete," Brennan announced. "Anything at your end?"

"Nada," Angela replied, her eyes never leaving the display. "No signs of any viruses or Trojan horse programs. Even if the bone contains the program that trashed the original Angela-tron, the new security protocols I installed in the upgraded model would catch them."

After a few tense minutes, Brennan asked Angela, "Should something have happened by now?"

"The original virus took awhile to show on the Angela-tron," Angela admitted, "by which time the system was fried. But with the new anti-virus software, we should have been at least alerted to a Trojan file or something. Running a virus scan right now," Angela announced, pulling up the appropriate program and launching the scan. After two tense minutes, Angela nodded with grim satisfaction. "Virus scan complete. Nothing showed up. No Trojans, no back-doors, no viruses, not even an annoying pop-up window."

"This would indicate," Brennan observed, "that the original virus was introduced by the disc you found, not by the bone scan."

"Precisely," Angela replied. "Which ties in with what I'm beginning to suspect regarding Pelant. He's been playing us like my dad playing Pearly Gates. He may be a brilliant hacker, but I suspect that a lot of what he's been doing is more smoke and mirrors than anything else."

Brennan's brow furrowed at Angela's statement. "I don't know what you mean by 'smoke and mirrors', Ange."

Angela smiled knowingly at her friend and explained; "I mean he's using misdirection. Making us think he's doing one thing when he's really doing something else. It's like a stage magician, making us think he's sawing a woman in half."

"There's no such thing as magic, Angela," Brennan protested. "You cannot simply bisect a person without causing irreparable damage."

"My point exactly, Sweetie," Angela insisted. "You know it isn't real, I know it isn't real, most of the audience knows that it isn't real. But by arranging the mirrors and curtains on the stage at just the right angles so the audience only sees what he wants them to see, and throwing a few flash-powder explosions around to draw their attention to where he wants them to look, any skilled illusionist can appear to be sawing a woman in half, or levitating, or teleporting from one place to another, and make it look pretty damn convincing."

Brennan reflected on Angela's words for a moment. "If I understand your analogy," she mused, "you are saying that Pelant, for all his vaunted skills as a computer hacker, relies on misdirection and deception, making us believe he is more proficient a hacker than he truly is."

"Exactly," Angela replied. "He may be good, even brilliant, but he's not some kind of mutant with superhuman computer-controlling powers. He didn't carve a virus code into a bone, he simply had a disc inserted in a drive when no one was looking."

"Maybe," Brennan nodded. "But he was still under house arrest with an ankle monitor when the virus was downloaded. How did he get the disc into your system?"

"There's only one way, Bren," Angela answered plainly. "Like all good illusionists, he has an assistant."

Brennan turned sharply toward her friend as the meaning of her last statement illuminated itself. "He has an accomplice? Someone with access to the Jeffersonian Medico-Legal lab?"

"Only explanation that makes sense," Angela replied.

Brennan nodded solemnly. "We need to inform Booth and Cam of your findings. If Cam can provide video surveillance footage from shortly before you first scanned the vertebra..."

A sudden digital chime interrupted Brennan's observations, prompting Angela to return her attention to her monitors. "Was that a warning? A possible virus?"

"No," Angela replied. "The dental records for our John Doe came in."

"Good," Brennan answered. "At least we can identify him now."

"And today's mystery guest is..." Angela murmured as she pulled up the file and displayed it on her screen. Brennan and Angela scanned the file information...

And stood thunderstruck as the absolute last name they expected to find was displayed plainly on the monitor.

"No way," breathed Angela. "No. God-damned. Way."

Brennan simply stared at the screen for several seconds, reading and re-reading the data retrieved from the dental records. Finally, she withdrew her cellular phone from her pocket and dialed a familiar number. Her heart thudded in her chest as the phone rang once, twice...

"Special Agent Booth."

"Booth?" Brennan announced herself.

"What's up, Bones?"

"We have a positive identification of our victim from dental records."

"You mean the charcoal briquette we found yesterday? Who is he?"

"Booth," Brennan replied, her voice equal parts relief and incredulity. "The dental records identified the victim as...as Christopher Pelant."

Three seconds dead silence, then, "Booth? Are you still there?"

"I'm on my way," Booth answered in a voice like sharpened steel.

_TBC (but you knew that, didn't you?)_


End file.
